


In Memory Of Jason Todd

by Amurtinyburr12



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Mystery, memento inspired, nonlinear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amurtinyburr12/pseuds/Amurtinyburr12
Summary: Jason's got a condition. He can't remember anything about his life involving Batman and worse can't seem to create any new memories since The Incident. He stumbles across a boy called Al Ghul, but can he trust him to help get revenge against B.W? Can he even trust himself?OR - the Memento inspired Jason Todd fic that nobody asked for





	1. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end.

He's standing in the dark, his left elbow is throbbing faintly and there's something heavy in his hand.

Worse, Jason doesn't have a clue as to how he got here. He appears to have been walking down a trail of steps. Squinting into the darkness, a sliver of light breaks through the blackness. Jason decides to follow it- what other choice does he have? As he goes down the path, the hair on the back of his neck stands up. It almost feels as if someone is... _watching_ _him_. Jason turns to look over his shoulder, just to be safe but, as he'd feared, no one is there.

Trying to quell the feeling of dread, he continues walking. However, it's not easy as he begins to realize with rising panic that he can't seem to remember much of _anything_.

He investigates the pain in his elbow and finds a neat three inch cut running from the base of his elbow up his forearm and ending before his wrist. The slice isn't deep but more worrisome is that it seems fairly recent. Not more than two days old at the most. There's no way Jason received this by accident. No one cuts themselves making a sandwich on their elbow. Someone did this to him. But who? And why? His mouth feels a little dry for a moment, and he has to remind himself to swallow.

He lets that thought go and looks down at his hands. He's carrying a fairly heavy red helmet in his left hand. Jason lifts it closer to his face and stares at it. He has no idea why he has it, but it looks like it would fit so it's fair to assume that it's his. It almost looks like motorcycle helmet and his guess is furthered by the fact that his jacket is made of authentic leather. Jason wonders if he's into bikes.

What kind of person is he? Oh God. He doesn't know.

Wait.

He does. It's coming back now. His name is Jason Peter Todd and he's somewhat of an orphan from Gotham. He mainly fends for himself on the streets...and dammit. The memories end there. There's something at the end, a blank space and a time jump. Maybe. All he can manage to dig up is an image of a warehouse exploding and the feeling of agonizing pain. It's worrisome that since then, however long ago that was, he doesn't know anything else. It's all blank. There's something else as well, just beyond his grasp. It feels like he's standing on his tiptoes trying to reach the highest shelf but he's still an inch off.

Jason realizes he's reached the bottom step and looks around, almost as if he's in a daze. It's a large cave. Stalactites hang from the ceiling and the echoes of bats chirping and squealing from somewhere above can be heard every few seconds. A gigantic copper penny sits in one corner, railings stretch along the sides of the cave walls and stone balconies while cases line the top balcony. Jason can't see inside, much to his disappointment, because they're dimmed.There's a few metal tables, random tech and equipment and a large black vehicle parked a few feet away. Jason feels like he's seen that somewhere before. 

A dark haired teenager sits at a chair, watching something on one of many computer monitors spread across a console. On one screen, three people are battling what looks like a fire in some sort of grassy area. The teen starts to turn, almost as if he'd felt Jason watching him. "Drake, Alfred and Grayson are taking care of it, father. No need to-" He cuts himself off mid sentence when his eyes meet Jason's. It's evident that this isn't who he was expecting to see based on his expression.

"Todd. How did you get down here?"

Jason looks at him blankly. "Do I know you?"

The boy looks slightly put out, but not surprised by that comment at all. "Check your photos." The boy's dark eyes track the confused look on Jason's face and he sighs. "Back pocket."

This boy seems to be familiar with him already and while that doesn't mean Jason should trust him he's got nothing else going on. A hand goes to the back pocket of his jeans and he pulls out several photographs.

The first is a large mansion surrounded by trees but obviously not close to any other residences. The front lights are on because the image was taken at night. A label is underneath it: WAYNE MANOR.

The second photograph is of a small apartment. Taken from the viewpoint of someone standing in the kitchen, it reveals a cleanly made bed in the corner, a chair and a table and a rack of what appear to be weapons on the far right wall. A note is on the bottom: SAFE HOUSE. Underneath that is a paperclip holding a slip of paper with an address. Presumably the location of the safe house.

The third photo is of actual people. There are three, all standing in defensive positions. The boy on the right has a calculating look in his blue eyes and his black hair is swept back carelessly like he didn't have time to brush it that day. He's fairly young, probably a teenager. The one in the middle has a good five inches on the first and also has captivatingly bright blue eyes. He's physically bigger and tanner than the first and definitely older. The last person is a much older gentleman, based on his grey and white hair. He dons a crisp black suit and has the look of a man that would no longer be surprised if ninjas broke into his house. This has a note as well: THESE THREE LIVE AT WAYNE MANOR. TO GET B.W, DISTRACT THEM. Jason realizes that the two younger ones are the very same people on the video who were fighting the fire.

The fourth image is of him, grinning at whoever is holding the camera and flipping them the bird. There is no note. No context.

Two pieces of paper are lodged between #4 and #5. The first is ripped piece of napkin with the words CALL IF YOU NEED TO TALK and a phone number and the second is a memo with another address which has been highlighted and circled several times. The letters B.W are written in dark red.

There it is again. B.W. What does that mean?

The last photo is of a young dark eyed boy. The one here in the cave with him. It's labeled: AL GHUL.

"Al Ghul," Jason says aloud. 

The boy- Al Ghul- nods.

"I guess I do know you. Sorry," Jason apologizes. "I don't really remember anything anymore. I think...I think I have a condition that-"

"I know," Al Ghul interrupts, narrowing his eyes. "You've told me."

"Oh," Jason has no idea what to say to that. He's told him this already?

"So you figured it out," Al Ghul stands from his chair and obviously sizes Jason up. "I'd be impressed but you won't remember so I won't waste my time."

Everything he's beginning to learn is always followed by more questions and Jason is beginning to grow frustrated. "What did I figure out?" He grits out, trying to keep his cool.

Al Ghul takes a few steps closer. "You got here on your own Todd. You've forgotten but since you're standing down here it means you realized your connection to Robin."

Robin. Yes, that's someone Jason _does_ remember. Everyone in Gotham knew about Batman and Robin. Before the explosion...whenever that was, Jason had occasionally seen the duo flying through the streets. His fascination was with the first Robin but he still found himself oddly attached to the second. Not many other knew about him and Jason wasn't sure why he did but he'd always liked the young crime fighter. He was brave, driven and a force to be reckoned with. Three things that Jason wanted to be.

"You know the story of Robin?" He finds himself asking, feeling almost excited. 

Al Ghul laughs dryly. "I'm familiar with Robin, yes. And no- don't tell me the story. You've told me before. But you being here now...that's interesting."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you wouldn't," There's annoyance in the younger boy's voice. "But you remember the second Robin. Right?"

"Yeah, I- I guess." Jason stammers.

The boy nods and turns to look at something in the corner. Before Jason can ask what he's staring at, Al Ghul is speaking again. "This is as good a time as any. You know what you look like?"

Jason thinks back to the photo of himself. 

"Yes."

"Good. Come over here." Al Ghul stalks over to a faded grey cube on one of the metal tables. Jason sets his helmet on the table and watches Al Ghul pick up the cube. It's small in his hand and as he presses a panel on top a hologram appears in the air. Intrigued, Jason leans in closer. It's a folder with the title DECEASED. Al Ghul flicks it open and slides through a few pages. A man in a suit, a woman with a necklace of pearls, a pair of acrobats and finally the boy stops on an image. It's Jason, that much is obvious. He's smiling, a snarky little grin that relays that he's up to no good. A plethora of information and statistics scroll down next to the picture. Jason barely catches things like "Crime Alley", "Sheila" and "The Joker" as the text dissapears.

"I'm dead." He can't tear his eyes from the hologram. The boy, the one wearing his face is also wearing the Robin uniform.

"Not exactly," Al Ghul sounds almost sympathetic. If he's capable of it. He glances toward the entrance of the cave. "Perhaps you should reveal yourself now. He doesn't remember any of it."

The thing is, when a man steps out of the folds of the cave he seems familiar.

"Bruce Wayne," Jason says. Billionaire, playboy and socialite. Everyone knows him. He takes in the man's dark attire and flowing cape. "Didn't know you ran around as a bat at night too, though."

Bruce nods, face softening. "I can't believe you found your way back after all this time. I don't know how you did it."

There's really something Jason is missing right now, but he can't quite pinpoint what it is. Something he should do, maybe. He doesn't know. "Did I go somewhere?" He asks instead.

Bruce comes closer, slowly as if Jason is an untamed horse. "You were taken from me." He pauses. "You really don't remember?"

"Sorry," Jason replies automatically. "I...I have amnesia. Or something like it."

Al Ghul looks at Bruce. "He can't make any new memories. Not after...not after the incident. He's missing everything about you and the rest of us as well."

Bruce looks angry. "How long have you known this?"

The younger boy doesn't look apologetic in the slightest. "Awhile. He found me first."

"What's going on?" Jason interrupts the two. "I just...I just want to remember. Not to sound entitled but this is really frustrating."

And then, Jason's being pulled into a hug. Bruce Wayne is hugging him. And...while it's foreign and awkward it _feels_ familiar. Something critical is definitely missing right now. 

"We'll figure this out. We can get you the best doctors money can buy and you'll remember everything in time," Bruce promises.

Jason hesitantly hugs back, not sure if this is something he should be doing. As he pulls away, Bruce's gaze suddenly darkens and his arm is being held in place. 

"What's that?" The man asks, staring openly at Jason's right wrist. The letters B.W are carved into his skin, old and scarred.

"I don't know," he frowns, suppressing his anger. He isn't mad at Bruce or Al Ghul. He's upset at himself for not remembering.

On a hunch, Jason rolls up the sleeve to his left arm and reads the words tattooed on his wrist in a small bolded writing. B.W TRIED TO KILL YOU. GET REVENGE.

"B.W must be initials," He shrugs to Bruce.

Bruce. Bruce Wayne.

Bruce's initials are B.W.

Jason's stomach drops to his toes and then he's lunging for the older man, tackling him down to the floor. He slips his hands around his neck and attempts to put him into a choke hold as they go down. It's a harder task to dodge the man's punch. His intentions were to lift him and then slam his head into the stone floor but suddenly his knee caps are hit by a well placed foot and he's crashing to the ground on his elbows and knees. He somehow manages to retain his hold on Bruce's neck.

Al Ghul is next to them in an instant, sliding a sword from a hidden scabbard. "This is your only warning, Todd." He hisses. "Get off of him."

"Jason," Bruce pants. The older man isn't struggling. "What did your left wrist say? Whatever it was, it was wrong."

 Two people appear at the bottom of the steps, but freeze when they take in the scene before them. The people from photo #3. Drake and Grayson, as Jason recalls Al Ghul calling them.

"Jason?" The older one asks, eyes growing wide. "You're the masked crazy that broke in?"

"You're not dead?" The younger boy puts in, looking thoroughly surprised.

"The fire?" Al Ghul asks as he weighs his sword in his hand.

"Alfred is finishing up the last," The older man answers, never taking his eyes off of Jason.

"Your initials," Jason ignores the two newcomers and tightens his death grip on Bruce's throat. "B.W. How can I trust you?" His eyes dart around, he hates that he can't trust himself or anyone in here. He's lost and confused. What is he supposed to be doing? "Give me a sign that I can trust you," He meets Bruce's eyes.

Al Ghul levels his sword at Jason's chest. "Father, give me the command and I will do it."

"No!" Bruce wheezes, glaring at the boy. "Put the sword down, Damian." The man is breathing a bit more heavily now but he uses his limited oxygen to turn his head back to Jason. "Release me. We can figure it out."

"His name is Damian?" Jason feels slighted as he stares at ~~Al Ghul~~ Damian.

"More like Demon," The younger boy in the entrance mutters.

"Shut up, Drake," Damian shoots back.

"Everyone, stop." The man next to Drake pleads. "Jason, this isn't like you."

Jason glances around the cave. His head is spinning and he's confused. "What did I used to be like?"

The man looks surprised by the question. "Well...you were brave. You cared and fought for our family and...you'd never attack any of us like this."

"How can I trust you?" Jason loosens up Bruce, just a bit. "I don't remember. How do I know you're telling me truth?"

Damian closes his eyes momentarily then slowly resheathes his sword. "You have no way of knowing. But you're going to have to make a decision." He steps back a few feet, giving Bruce and Jason space.

"Your initials can't be a coincidence." It's a whisper, not really meant to be heard by everyone else but it's still heard anyway.

"It is," Damian puts in and looks at Bruce for help.

"If you're making a mistake it's something you'll have to live with," Is all the older man says, voice even and calm.

"I won't remember this..." Jason looks at his arms hopelessly. He takes in Damian's face, Drake's and the man who must be Grayson. He loosens his grip on Bruce then, after a moments hesitation, releases him.

The four stand in silence. Finally, Jason turns to Damian. "You said your name was Al Ghul. I wrote it on my photograph- it's in my handwriting. The tattoo on my wrist is my handwriting as well. If I can't trust that information then I cannot trust the tattoo."

"I didn't lie completely. My name is Al Ghul, in a way." Damian looks a little guilty. "Damian Wayne-Al Ghul."

Bruce stands up, brushing himself off. "Jason, we'll fix your memory. I promise. After that's done we can talk about everything." He stops to frown at Damian. "I'd be interested in hearing your part in this."

Jason lifts himself onto a table and sits heavily. "I can't trust anything, not even myself. But," he looks at Grayson. "Something about all of you is familiar. I don't know if that's good or bad but it's all I've got left."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is the first story I've actually mapped all the way out to the beginning. Can't say how fast it will be done but it's going to be completed and probably pretty efficiently too.


	2. Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Jason get to The End?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've seen Memento (the 2001 movie) then this story might be pretty easy to figure out. If you haven't- definitely watch it. But not until you've finished this fic if you want to be kept in the dark.

It's the cold that wakes him. He's in a bed that much is clear. The red sheets have slipped from his upper body, tangling and catching just below his hips. It takes some effort to pull the sheets up around his shivering torso.

Trying to figure out exactly whose bed he's in proves to be the more difficult part. Jason slowly rolls onto his side and notices a switch embedded in the wall above his head. Naturally, his first instinct is to flip it. Instantly, the room is flooded by enormous phosphorescent lights attached to the ceiling. The place itself is unfamiliar with its enormous white walls, and minimalist aesthetic. It's very clean, something Jason can truly appreciate.The bed isn't large enough for somebody else so whoever's house this is- they probably live alone.

After a moment of undisturbed silence, it's clear that no one else is here. This might just be his bed.

But, exactly where is here?

Jason sits up, scanning the area. An alarm clock stands on a nightstand near him. The time is nearly two a.m- an odd time for him to be awake, he thinks. A small collection of photos and notes are lying adjacent to the alarm clock. He reaches over with one hand and leafs through the stack with his thumb. A young boy called Al Ghul, a picture of himself, three people, a large mansion, phone numbers, addresses, etc.

A strange pulse reverberates through his skull, like a string attached to his temple, tugging him to the left. It's almost painful, the twinge that tells him something isn't right. _Think harder._ Jason grits his teeth, a hand flying up to rest on his head as if that will cease the pain. The tugging never ceases, and as he takes a breath to steady himself he's suddenly sucked into the web of his own mind. A flash of white, and it's all starting to come back now. A little foggy, and hard to grasp but...

Right. Jason sits up even more, tears springing to his eyes even though he isn't entirely sure why. It's insidious the way scattered memories crawl feverishly back into the crevices of his mind. What is it...what's wrong with him?

Another few seconds and he remembers. He's got a condition. For some reason, after some sort of accident he can't seem to make any new memories. He wishes he could remember what "The Incident" was but all he can manage to recall is an unbearably loud noise, a feeling like his nerves are igniting and seemingly never relenting pain.

He returns his attention back to his task, thinking it must be better to focus on this then the idea of a life that was his. As he shuffles through the stack of photos he comes to a Polaroid of the apartment he's in right now. In his handwriting it's labeled: SAFE HOUSE. Reasonably then it can be concluded that this apartment is  _his_ safe house. But why would he call it a safe house and not just an apartment or home? Why would any one call their home a safe house unless they had something to hide? Or, Jason swallows, because he is hiding from something. 

Jason pushes that uncomfortable thought away, trying not to think the worst of a situation he knows nothing about. Instead of dwelling on it, he shifts his weight to his legs and clambers off the bed. The hardwood floor is cold and unforgiving against his bare feet but he ignores it in favor of going to stand by one of the glass walls.

It's a city, dark and formidable yet...familiar. He's got to be in Gotham. That skyline is like something from a dream and so are those buildings, far below. Just below him, he can see a few pedestrians prowling the streets. The blaring of car horns, shouts and the adjacent building across the street,  _Gotham U_ , confirm his suspicions.

He turns his attention back to the photographs in his hand. Something small and dark on his left wrist catches his eye. Above it there is a long cut, though it seems faded. Probably fresh but not a bad one. What really matters is the strange black markings. As he turns his arm to examine it more closely, he realizes that it's a tattoo, tiny and written in neat cursive. It reads: B.W TRIED TO KILL YOU. GET REVENGE.

Jason blinks at it, unsure of what to do with the knot forming in his stomach. Someone tried to kill him. What kind of life does he live? It must be the reason he's in a safe house...though Jason doesn't feel any more comfortable now knowing the reason.

He quickly concludes that there is nothing else on the left arm but the right has those letters again, seemingly carved into his skin a long time ago. Jason isn't a stranger to knife marks- he knows he grew up in Crime Alley. This is definitely a deliberate cut. These letters, if they are a person, are someone's initials. If Jason was the one to put this into his own arm- why hadn't he used the man's full name? Or gotten a tattoo like the other wrist? God, he wishes he had someone to give him solid answers. This is all too much, too much to register.

For a second, Jason has to close his eyes so he can block out the cascade of memories threatening to overwhelm him and pull him under.

He goes back to the photo's, something sinister and brooding settling deep into his gut. Yeah, there's those letters again on one of the pictures. There's an address and the initials. So, it probably isn't too hard to guess that's where B.W lives. Perhaps, whatever Jason was doing before this, he was about to go to B.W's house and confront him.

Jason thinks back on to if he's a vengeful person or not. He remembers the time an older teen stole the food he'd earned, back when he was seven. Jason had punched him bloody until the other passed out. He can't remember feeling remorseful about it.

Okay. So yes, he's the type to get revenge. And even if he can't remember it- he's damn well not going to let anyone get away with almost killing him. He has the sinking feeling that these initials, B.W, has something to do with his memory loss. Perhaps when B.W attempted his assassination, he hit Jason's head hard enough to make him lose certain memories.

Deciding once again not to put too much brain power into it for the moment, Jason diverts his attention to the photo of the three people. The teenager, the young man and the older man. The label for this one reads: THESE THREE LIVE AT WAYNE MANOR. TO GET B.W, DISTRACT THEM.

Alright, so yes. Jason is hunting down his hunter. That's something he can get behind. 

There's another switch next to the lights and Jason flicks it. The wall on the far side of the room lights up, revealing an assortment of knives, swords, guns, lighters and grenades. How had he managed to get a hold of all of this? And what use would he have with a sword? _What sort of hellish person needs this many weapons?_

He finds himself standing next to the wall, eyes fixated on a red helmet hanging on a silver hook. It looks about his size. To confirm this theory, he places it over his head. The helmet settles snugly over his face and rests snugly around the base of his neck. A press of a button on the side causes the helmet to hiss lowly as it clamps further, but not uncomfortably, on his skull. 

Once the helmet is secure, he decides to leave it on. It's light on his head, almost like he's not wearing it all and its presence is oddly comforting. The weaponry wall has so many different objects, some Jason isn't even sure as to what they do, that he's more than a little overwhelmed. He settles for taking a small pistol and then, remembering that his note to himself said that he needed a distraction, snatched a box of matches and a small can of lighter fluid from another pouch. Fires count as distractions, he reasons.

Padding back in the direction of his bed, he notices a mirror on the opposite wall. He takes in his expression, his body stance and- something just below his heart. Another tattoo embedded into his pale skin. It reads: PLAY THE TAPES. Oddly enough, it's not hard to see what it says. It's not backward- this tattoo was made to be read in a mirror. Jason looks around the apartment but can't see any tapes in sight at the moment.

With too much already on his plate, he turns away from his reflection and finds a black t-shirt, haphazardly discarded on the ground. He decides to tug it on. A belt is on the ground not much farther than that so he picks that up too and follows the trail of clothing until he's got on a pair of dark jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket as well. The gun goes into the holster of the belt and the matches and lighter fluid into his jacket pocket. A pair of gloves lay near his bed post, so he slips them on. They're light and feel strange. They're too small for him, but after Jason takes note of the hidden weapons and tools inside them, he decides he can't afford to leave them behind. Jason can't remember who left these clothes here- but he assumes they are his because everything, save the gloves, fits snugly.

He's just about to step away from the bed when he remembers the photos from the nightstand. Quickly, he tucks them into the back pocket of his pants. He'll need that information and he certainly doesn't want to forget it. Again.

He finds a set of keys by the sink, apparently tossed there haphazardly for himself to pick up again sometime in the future. Jason snatches them up and starts for the door. One of the keys on the chain locks the door snugly behind him, but strangely there seem to be quite a number of locks on the door. Some keyholes, some electronic and two latches. A sticky note, pressed tightly onto the wall next to the doorway, reads " **Don't fret over the several locks. Ensure the middle one is locked and Al Ghul will ensure your** **safety**."

Al Ghul. The boy from the first picture. Jason doesn't know how he feels about that. A little kid has been protecting him? That couldn't be moral or even remotely safe.

A few minutes later, he's found a red motorcycle parked in the lower garage that he supposes belongs to him. If he doesn't, then he really can't explain why he would have the keys for it. After that, it's just a matter of driving to the address written on his photo. The home of his would-be killer. The home of B.W.

* * *

_"Did I ever tell you the story of the second Robin?" Jason sits perched on the edge of his bed, knees folded neatly underneath him, a pack of cigarettes balanced on his left thigh and a pen and paper on his right. His head is slightly cocked to the side as he balances the shell of a phone between his shoulder and his ear._

_He pauses, but doesn't let the person on the phone answer before he continues. "Well, people say he was brave. Perhaps a little hot headed and much more impulsive than the first but still... Everyone agrees that he was brave. Maybe it's his heart that always landed him in trouble, especially before the Bat picked him up. Robin saw something wrong with the world and he pushed back. That's just the way he was. Some people didn't agree with his methods and maybe it's because Robin could be more brutal than necessary. But there is no denying he was brave. You have to be if you're gonna be in that line of work."_

_There's a rustling noise on the other end of the phone line. "How does this connect to Billy Wright? And why are you telling me this?"_

_Jason licks his lips and writes down that name on his pad of paper. He chooses to disregard the first question in order to answer the second. "I grew up in Gotham, that I remember. I used to watch the second Robin fly through the streets with Batman. See the wind picking up and floating them through the air on grappling hooks and capes and I could taste the adrenaline running through their veins. It's funny really. I can't recall a lot of these days. But I do remember wishing I could be Robin."_

* * *

Setting the fire outside B.W's mansion isn't difficult. Jason has known how to make a fire since he was very young. Growing up in Gotham, you needed to learn quick or you wanted to survive. That's just the way it was. He's left his motorcycle parked a good distance away, so he can't count on that as an escape route if things go wrong. Honestly, Jason has no clue what to expect. He just knows he's here for revenge. He hopes he's doing right by his past self who obviously planned this out extensively.

Best case scenario, B.W comes out and Jason can kill him on the spot. Second best case, he can get the three people who live with him out of the house. Obstacles are not something Jason wants to deal with.

Jason's not sure what B.W's physical appearance is, but he decides he'll just shoot to kill anyone who isn't from his photographs. And, well, he wouldn't really be broken up if anyone else happened to be hit. It's not like he knows these people.

The fire starts in the corner of the neatly trimmed bushes in the enormous garden outside the mansion. It's small at first but begins picking up as it eats away at every dry branch or blade of glass it can reach. Jason pulls himself up, with a little effort, into the branches of a bushy tree, watching and waiting intently for someone to emerge from the house. As he sits, he thinks about how the climb into the tree should have been harder to do. He must be pretty athletic. That's good, he thinks. He must go to the gym often.

He's pulled from his thoughts when the front light switches on after a few minutes and someone comes out. Their figure is distorted with the bright light behind them and they're speaking but Jason can't make out exactly what they are saying. As he strains to listen, a monitor lights up in his helmet, surprising him enough that he nearly falls off the branch he's sitting on.

**ENHANCE AUDIO? Please confirm.**

"Oh...uh, yes. Do that." Jason grunts out, a little nervously. This helmet is clearly more valuable than he'd originally thought. 

The audio comes in, this time quite clearly.

"You must return to the base immediately. I'm afraid a fire has somehow started in the garden. I will do my best to put it out, but it's quite large. I fear that I went too long without noticing it. It will be very difficult to vanquish it now."

The person on the porch falls silent as they listen to whomever they are talking to. Jason hears the man rush over to something and the distinct sound of a tap turning. The sound of running water follows that after a few seconds and Jason realizes that a hose has been turned on.

"Yes, very good sir. Both should be able to help. I agree with you that this may not be a naturally caused fire. Alright. I will see him in a few minutes then."

Jason watches intently, eyes narrowing as someone new bursts out onto the porch, front door slamming loudly behind them. "Hopefully we can take care of this fire ourselves, Alfred. Damian is working on security. With any luck, he can find the video footage of how this started and if it was natural or not. Damn wish Tim had stayed home from patrol tonight, though."

The man, the one called Alfred, cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes. Jason had the urge to do the same thing, but he knew it was unnecessary. The helmet acted as a perfect filter.

"Red Robin is on his way back. Apparently, your father had other matters to attend to before he could return."

"Sounds like him," The newcomer shrugs before handing Alfred some sort of mask to cover his face, fastens his own to his mouth and begins to tug at the hose. "Put this on so you and we'll see what we can do about this fire."

As Alfred and the younger man approach the fire, Jason realizes the younger person is one of the people from his photo. The young man with the brilliant smile. That leaves only the younger teen from the same photo unaccounted for. He and B.W must be inside hiding. Perhaps they knew Jason was coming- maybe they were scared. He has no idea what to think of this 'Red Robin' person or the man who was the handsome man's father. He'll deal with them later if he needs to but if all goes well then he should be gone before any new occurrences come about.

The second eldest from the photo stands directly underneath him, clad in a loose t-shirt and a pair of blue boxers, spraying water from the hose directly into the fire's flames. Jason waits for a second, taking a deep breath to steel his nerves. And then- he drops.

He free falls through the air, the short distance from him and the man below him. Instinctively, somehow Jason's body knows exactly what to do. Must be something about the gym so he lets it take over. Jason drops straight onto the man's shoulders, wraps his strong legs around his neck and yanks the other body toward the ground with crushing force. The other man is caught off guard, that much is obvious but the fact that he recovers from the initial shock is incredible. The two crash toward the ground and as they fall, strong hand wrap around Jason's legs and spindly fingers dig in with vigor. The strong hold has Jason struggling to free his leg, which he's sure will be bruised soon, and he sprawls backward, completely thrown from the man's shoulders.

That did not go as he had planned. Honestly, that move should have snapped this man's neck and Jason is taken aback. Only someone trained would have known how to defend themselves from an attack like that- these people are professionals. As Jason climbs to his knees, all he can think of is how much this is really pissing him off.

"Master Grayson!" Alfred shouts from the left, clutching another hose. He turns the nozzle on it and faces it toward Jason whom is immediately pelted by it's formidable spray. Blown backward, Jason is forced to roll the opposite direction as he struggles to dodge the force of the water. Damn, this is getting annoying. So much for the element of surprise. After managing to roll behind the tree he dislodges a knife from his belt with a quick movement. A quick step out from behind the tree and he's aimed the knife for the elderly man's face. However, as his arm is releasing, the other man- Grayson- appears from his right side suddenly and snatches his arm. The knife slips from his grasp, thrown off course and is only successful in piercing a hole into the hose in Alfred's hands. A hole appears in the side and water begins spraying every which direction, only creating more chaos.

Jason growls in frustration but has his attention immediately focused elsewhere as he is thrown to the ground and his skull slammed roughly into the grass. The impact could have possibly given him a concussion if he hadn't been wearing this helmet. Staring sideways up at the sky, Jason notices that the fire is nearly surrounding them all, even racing up the trunk of the tree he was just hiding in.

"Who are you?" Grayson's shout, brings him back to the current situation. 

**Voice Distortion? Please confirm. Blink twice to activate.**

"The person who's going to kill you," Jason grinds out, voice now electronic and deep. His hands are currently tightly pinned to the dirt by both of Grayson's strong ones.

"I have no quarrel with you," Jason promises, mind reeling as his mind works double time to come up with a way out of this. "Release me and I can continue my mission."

"You apparently do have some vendetta - you tried to kill me already." Grayson's blue eyes grow dark. "And there's no way in hell I'm letting you get in that house."

Alfred is quickly approaching, abandoning the fire for the moment and Jason realizes he needs to do something fast. Then he remembers- the gloves. 

"I will leave you and the old man alone," Jason nods his head to Alfred, nearly upon them. Grayson turns his head momentarily, and quick as a flash, Jason smuggles the small yet, extremely powerful, taser from his glove and presses it ruthlessly against Grayon's bare hand. 

"I-" Grayson begins but that's all he gets out. His body tenses, stills for just a moment then without ceremony he collapses on top of Jason, reduced to nothing but incoherent sounds and random spasms. It's surprising once again, that this man is still conscious. A blast like that would usually knock anyone out for a few hours. Something is definitely off here. The roar of the water and fire in his ears disorients Jason as he tries to focus on what he's doing. 

Jason mutters under his breath, shoves Grayson's limp and seizing body to the side and gets to his feet. Alfred stands in front of him, knees bent and arms put out in a typical fighting stance.

"Step back, old man." Jason looks him up and down. "You will let me walk into that house unless you want to end up like your friend."

Alfred shakes his head. "I cannot allow that."

"I'm done asking nicely," Jason rolls his eyes, although the older man can't see it. "It doesn't do you any good to play the hero. It never does."

Where had that come from? Jason doesn't know why he said that, but it completely right. He slips his gun from his belt and aims it at the man. Just as he's about to shoot, a flaming branch from overhead falls between the two, blocking Jason's shot. Cursing, Jason puts his pistol back into its holster and turns away. He doesn't need to kill the old man. The fire will do it for him now that the two are trapped on all sides. Momentarily, Jason wonders if he's the kind of person to do all of this. He decides on yes - these people tried to kill him and just because he can't remember doesn't mean he should go easy on them. He's justified. There cannot be mercy for criminals.

A light in the distance, traveling on the same road Jason used, comes screeching closer and Jason realizes that whomever that light belongs to- they're heading straight for this garden. It might be Red Robin, whoever that is. Jason doesn't stick around to confirm his theory- he ducks into the house as fast as he can.

It's dark inside but even in the darkness, Jason can tell that the mansion is much larger on the inside than it appears on the outside. And that says a lot- the house is enormous from the outside.

As he steps into the living room, he traces the walls with his hands, as if trying to feel for B.W's location. "I'm coming for you," He whispers under his breath.

His feet lead him to the fireplace and Jason stops to look at the photograph hung above it. A dark haired man and a lavishly dressed woman with pearls around her neck stand poised in it, hands draped over the shoulders of a young boy below them. With a hiss, he removes his helmet so he can study the picture. The little boy looks vaguely familiar.

He traces the photograph before moving on to the large clock in the corner of the room, masked by shadows, almost as if whomever put the clock here didn't want it to be noticed. A handle is located on it and so he tugs.

A bright blue light pulses from the clock, enveloping Jason's body as it scans him. Shocked, Jason makes to run but before he can leave an electronic voice blares from the clock. "JASON TODD. A04. RECOGNIZED." And before Jason is entirely sure of what's happening, the door swings wide, revealing a darkened staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you've all figured out by now, this story is nonlinear. Perhaps you also noticed that it's being told in reverse order. Starting with The End right back to The Beginning.
> 
> Also, sorry for the infrequent updates. I haven't had any time to do free writing, really. I've got finals coming up and here I am procrastinating.
> 
> I don't really know how I feel about this chapter. The writing seems choppy. Also I really didn't fact check anything so suspend your disbelief for the sake of the story I guess.


	3. A Bird Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart beats in reverse.

Short gasps for air, feet rhythmically pounding. Jason stops abruptly, panting as he looks down at himself, a bewildered expression surely plastered to his face. What the hell? Where is he? Is he wearing a helmet?

There isn't much time to dwell on how he got here, standing on the roof of a large house because of the pain lacing itself through his left arm and dull throbbing in his ribs. A closer inspection reveals that he's been cut, most likely by some sort of sharpened blade judging by how the jacket he's wearing was easily torn as well. Thick lines of red blood ooze from a three inch wound and Jason has to stifle the urge to throw up all over the roof top when he sees a hint of white bone peeking out at him. The sight of his own bone is truly not a comfortable sight. In his other hand he grips a .500 Smith and Wesson Magnum and that's almost as concerning as the fact that he's injured. Why in God's green earth would he need such a high caliber weapon? Or more pointedly, why does he have a weapon at all?

His panic session is cut short when a strange _shnking_ sound reverberates through the air and all the sudden something is flying straight for his face. Jason barely manages to ungracefully roll out of the way before he gets an unwanted nose piercing. The object that nearly hits him finds a home on a gray pipe just a few feet away. Call Jason crazy but it almost looks like some sort of bat shaped boomerang.

A figure stands some feet away, perched on top of the chimney of the roof and obviously the thrower of the latest threat on Jason's life. Presumably the reason he's holding a gun.

This newcomer, Jason assumes is a he based on the stance, perfectly arranged medium length black hair, and lack of cleavage, is clad in a gaudy red and black spandex-Kevlar circus outfit with a long flowing red cape thrown behind his shoulders and a strange looking yellow X across his chest. Even from here, Jason can tell that this guy is dangerous- he's clearly got an arsenal of weapons tucked away inside the belt around his waist as well as the extended bo staff clutched tightly in his left hand and whatever might be hidden from his immediate line of sight.

Jason traces his outline with his eyes, unsure of what to think. Really, all he's very aware of is that though he's clearly an experienced fighter this guy is very small. Despite him standing on the chimney it's obvious that Jason probably has a good five inches on him at least and outweighs him by probably 100 pounds.

A flash of an explosion , a childhood spent in Crime Alley, and a mixture of rage and fear appears in his minds eye. Remembering- but...God what happened after his younger years? He's clearly older now...all he can recall is a haze of agony, terror and maniacal laughter.

The guy jumps neatly from the chimney, landing softly on the roof without a sound and successfully pulling Jason out of his thoughts. He falls into a running stance, and Jason thinks: _Oh, I guess I'm chasing this guy. Interesting._

So he runs toward the figure, still feeling heavy in the head and unsure of what exactly the situation really is.

The figure pauses, seemingly surprised based on his obvious hesitation. Spandex boy brings his bo staff around in a delicately deadly arc, positioning himself on light feet and giving what he probably thinks is an intimidating glare. All Jason notices is that his skin looks too soft to belong to someone much older than 18, but it's hard to tell because of the black mask glued around his eyes.

 _On second thought,_ Jason realizes as his feet are swept out from underneath him by the stupid staff and he instantly is thrown off balance.  _I probably wasn't chasing this guy. I was probably running._ His back and left arm make quick and harsh impacts with the roof, the gun clatters from his hand, and the air is thrown from his longs as struggles to breathe. A blinding pain rears in front of his eyes as his injured arm is jostled and attacked by roof shingles, so he wrenches it up and near his heart. He almost feels the need to hiss but he's too busy wheezing.

"Who are you? Who sent you here? What do you want?" His attacker asks, tone mostly calm but obviously threatening. The staff in his hand comes down hard on Jason's abdomen, pinning him into place with an unrelenting force. The pistol is kicked across the roof by a black boot.

Jason has the urge to smirk- maybe his former self who had his memories would have done so. He lets the smirk find it's way to his lips, not that this psychopath is able to tell from the helmet on Jason's head. "Slow down there, tough guy. Those tights might hug your legs nicely but at least take me out to dinner first."

 _So, this is my personality,_ Jason shrugs inwardly. Quips and sarcasm. Seems pretty accurate. He always did get into trouble for running his mouth back in the days of wandering around with the filth of Gotham.

The boy above him frowns deeply, pushing a little harder on Jason's stomach with his staff. "Answer the questions."

Jason snorts, "Or what? You'll beat me with your stick?" His voice sounds distorted and deep but he continues on anyway, not giving the boy a chance to answer. "Maybe if you tell me who you are, I'll be charitable and share my own identity with you."

There's a momentary silence and then an incredulous, "You don't know who I am?"

Jason lets his gaze wander the kid's outfit once again while his injured hand slowly dips into the opening of his jacket, searching for the gun that he knows must must be there based on the weight. "Can't say I've ever been into the leather-spandex fetish you have so really there's no reason we'd ever meet. So, no, I don't know you."

"Red Robin." The boy sounds a little put off. "Acquaintance of Batman."

Batman. Jason remembers who he was- Jason used to see Batman beat up criminals when he was a kid. He doesn't remember a Red Robin though...only two normal Robin's with no color attached to their names.

"Tell me who you are now," Red Robin insists, all previous hurt disappearing from his tone. 

"I'd tell you but you won't live long enough to remember so it doesn't matter either way, little birdy," Jason snarks as he jerks a leg out at the bo staff, successfully dislodging it from his chest and catching the Robin off guard. At the same time, he brings out his second pistol and pulls the trigger, aiming straight for Red Robin's exposed neck. Usually, Jason thinks he's a pretty good shooter. His body seems to know how to do it and he probably wouldn't own two guns without knowing how to aim. However, this time he's got a gun in a hand that's attached to a trembling, jacked up left arm and he doesn't shoot straight.

The bullet whizzes past Red Robin's neck and maybe would have grazed him if not for the fighter swiftly dodging to the left.

 "I'm done playing nice," Red Robin mutters, though not loudly enough to make it clear he was talking to Jason. He seems to be listening to something else - something Jason can't hear.

Jason decides there and then that he doesn't need to kill this guy. He knows he's okay with killing, that's not the reason for his hesitation. He has no idea what's going on right now, how he got here or if he is making a mistake. The best option is just to flee, hope he loses the asshole and get somewhere safe.

"And I'm done playing," Jason offers in retaliation, running for the edge of the roof. On his way, he considers trying to throw the bat boomerang back at it's owner but the vivid image of himself trying and failing to pull it from the pipe discourages that plan. Instead, he snatches his first pistol up from where it lays discarded and shoots off a few rounds behind him, not even bothering to look.

 A curse from Red Robin gives him hope that he's hit him, or at least slowed down his chase.

Arriving at the edge of the roof, Jason doesn't give second thought to tuck his legs and leap from the roof down to the grassy lawn below. The collisions force is lessened by the momentum Jason uses to throw himself into a roll. He quickly scrambles back to his feet however, and takes off toward the street, scanning the area for some sort of escape. Luckily, there seems to be a motorcycle parked not too far down the way. It's too convenient that this motorcycle is here now, so it must be his. A hand searches his pocket for the keys as he runs and sure enough he comes up with two silver keys on a ring. God, one of these better be the key to the motorcycle or he's fucked.

He hears a loud shout from behind him as he mounts the motorcycle. The first key he tries, blessedly, starts the engine and Jason wastes no time in slamming the gas pedal with all his might. Jason's tempted to blast past Red Robin and spray a few fumes in his face but he's too nervous about one of the kid's sharp knives piercing his tires so he quells the urge.

He speeds into the night, breaking every road law that exists, heart pounding in his chest as he wonders if Red Robin somehow managed to follow him despite not having a vehicle of his own to give chase.

He only stops once he's down to a quarter tank of gas so he pulls into a darkened alley somewhere deep in the slums of Gotham City. Where is he supposed to go? Where does he live? Jason checks his jacket pocket again for something that might give him a clue but he finds nothing. He checks the other pocket and after coming up empty once more wonders if the strange weight in his back pocket has something that can help him.

It's a collection of Polaroid photos, which is a little strange but Jason is glad to have something to tell him about who he is. The first image is of the mansion, Wayne Manor, he's just fled. Obviously he's been there before tonight if he took this picture. The second is the inside of a small apartment. Clipped onto it is a single paper containing an address. Jason memorizes it, though he knows now that he won't remember it once his condition causes him to forget again.

There are two more photos and two more pieces of crumpled paper but Jason opts to not look at them for now. He just needs to find somewhere he feels sheltered and right now it appears that's going to be this "safe house."

More people than he would think are out enjoying the night life, but then again Jason isn't really that surprised that in this part of town the people are restless and dangerous. The safe house turns out to be located near Gotham University, making it a little less sketchy the most areas around.

He parks his motorcycle in the lower garage where not a single other vehicle can be found. Best case scenario, he'll remember where he put it. Worst case scenario, he'll assume it's his because who else would put their vehicle so far out of the way?

Finding the actual apartment proves easy, though he's aching to put something on his wound. At least the cut is on his left arm, he tries to think positively. His right hand is the dominant. The second key on the ring unlocks the door and he lets himself in with a heavy sigh. There's a note on the door from the inside that reads " **Don't fret over the several locks. Ensure the middle one is locked and Al Ghul will ensure your** **safety** " and Jason gets a slight migraine trying to figure out who this Al Ghul person might be. He doesn't try to remember, instead just obediently securing the middle lock before staggering to the kitchen where he tosses the keys onto the counter and opens a few cabinets. The first one holds only a handful of black tapes, not at all useful to him. After some more rummaging through another cabinet, he locates a small jar of faintly glowing green water labeled " **Lazarus Water. Use for Worst Injuries**."

Jason tiredly looks at the cut on his arm and decides out loud, "I mean, I just wanted some sort of soothing cream but I can use this, I guess." After all, what could go wrong?

Sluggishly, he pours a little onto the open wound and on cue winces at the burning feeling and the sound of sizzling flesh. As an afterthought, he rubs a little onto his throbbing ribs. Placing the jar back into the cabinet, he finds an apple on the counter so he takes a few bites of it before wandering out of the kitchen and toward the shadow of a bed in the far corner.

A rack of weapons hang on the wall opposite the bed so he puts his two guns and the red helmet back on it before starting in the direction of the bed. As he goes, he discards the leather jacket, his shirt, his belt, shoes, and jeans- his goal the comfort of a few blankets and a soft pillow to rest his head on. He has half a mind to dig the Polaroid photographs out of his jeans and place them on the nightstand, just so he can look at them more intensively later. The clock next to him reads 4:32 AM.

The moment his head hits the pillow, he's passed out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look I did some research for once. Or, I took someone else's research on Batfamily heights I guess: http://vampykitty-kun.tumblr.com/post/63992215729/updated-canon-batfam-agesheightsweights.
> 
> I also should mention, in case it's confusing, Jason slept nearly a whole day. The next chapter is 2 AM the NEXT day. I figured this might be an affect of the Lazarus water and the toll on his mind.
> 
> Also, this chapter was fairly short but the next is going to be longer. The next is probably gonna be some time since I really need to study for finals and think about Christmas gifts.


	4. To Find What You're Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question: What's the first thing you notice about a story?
> 
>  
> 
> se̸̢̢͇̼̣̰͈̖̹͇̠͈͇͎͓̰͒ḻ̸̢̛̮͕̹̲͕̗̜̥̻̪̮̟͕̍̐̓͊͘t̵̛͎̼̣͔̘̖͎͓͋̓̒͘ị̴̡̡̦̗̭͕̳̫̱͇͑͋͌̉ͅt̴͍̦̰̗̲́̏̊͗͗̾͑̅͋̽̈̕͝ ̵̧̱̖̭̖͕̌̈́̀̆̊̇͛̽͌̆̇̾͝ṟ̵͕̼̬̞̼͓̹̺̲̌̄͜ę̶̢̬̝̱̔̈̽̑̀̍̐̈͐̅̚ṯ̶̢̻̲̳͓͔͓̫͗̏̊͒͛̎͝ͅp̷̧̧̦͚̼͖̼̘̐̕͠a̶̦͖͓͇̺̟̝͎͔̍̓͛͒̈́̚̚͜͝h̶̨̰̯̤̥̳̜̰͉̉̿̓͜c̶͎̠͖͔͍͗̎̇̃̉̇͠ ̷̛̰̤̠̟̪̗̠̭̞̘̱̻̉̊e̴̡̡̢̧̲̜͍͎͈̭̞͎͋͑̓͋̑̄̃̉̐̓̄̈́͒͛h̶̨̪̳̱͙̘͎̩̱̖̳̠̞͗̾̈̉͗͑͠t̴̢̡̹͙̰͍̙͓̺͎̟̮̪̼͖͌̌̐̐̋͌̃̉͒͗̂̀͗̆̎͠

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much action happens in this one but pretty much all the rest are action after this. It's not a filler because it needs to happen but yeah.
> 
> This one is a bit short, sorry.

* * *

_The other voice answers calmly, though there's something underneath his tone that Jason can't quite make sense of. "What is your fascination with a deceased vigilante named after a bird, Todd?"_

_Jason tries to quell the feeling of irritation at the question. He's entitled to whatever he wants to like. But, this is his benefactor. He cannot let petty anger overrule his plans for revenge. "Deceased," Jason repeats, like the word boils on his tongue. "No one ever truly dies."_

_There's a sort of dark chuckle, as if the other person finds that amusing._

_"Something funny?" Jason asks, raising an eyebrow though his benefactor can't see it._

_"You're not becoming sentimental, are you?" The other voice snorts; disregarding Jason's question._

_Jason ponders this, wondering if he is. He shifts the phone so it's completely trapped between his ear and shoulder and with slightly trembling fingers locates the lighter from among the sheets of the bed. "I don't know," He replies truthfully. He slips a cigarette from the pack on his thigh and lets the lighters flame envelop it. "Maybe I've always been sentimental."_

_"No, you certainly-" The benefactor cuts himself off haltingly before continuing slowly. "That's a good point. Perhaps this is one of your forgotten characteristics."_

_A sudden rhythmic knock at the door startles Jason and he nearly tumbles from his precarious purchase on the bed to the wooden floor._

_"What was that?" The person on the phone demands._

_"Just someone knocking on the door," Jason supplies, heart beat slowly returning to its normal rate. "Maybe they're just delivering a package."_

_"Why would anyone be sending a package to a safe house?" His patron hisses, angrier than Jason thought he should have reason to be. "Do not answer it. Swear to me you won't."_

_Jason's gaze lands on the door and he wonders what's on the other side. Slowly unfolding his legs, he stands._

_"Todd, are you listening to me?"_

* * *

**Aware.**

Jason blinks. _Where am I?_

It's a little dark out. Evening although it's quickly turning into night.

He glances around, taking in the large mansion fifty feet in front of him, obscured by the low hanging branches of a few trees overhead and the tall bushes blocking his vision. Someone is walking into the enormous house, a small black haired boy. Glancing toward his own right hand, which is clenched around something, he finds a stack of photographs and a red marker.

So many questions...it's almost painful the way memories come rushing towards him as daunting as a rushing river. And yet...a dam separates him and only a few small drops manage to trickle to where Jason stands; anticipating the flood. 

A moment of absolute silence, no roaring in his ears.

Another second and- _Jason_. _That's my name_.

Half a heart beat and it comes again, this time in nearly unbearable amounts of phantom pain. Why _do I remember everything about my childhood but not much after? What does the...explosion mean?_

The sound of a dog barking jerks Jason from the rabbit hole he's found himself free falling into. He squints in time to see the black haired boy leaning down to vigorously scratch a large brown-furred Great Dane behind the ears. "Down Titus," The boy scolds, loud enough for Jason to pick up clearly. "No jumping."

Why is Jason here, hiding behind a mountain of garden shrubs to watch a dark haired little boy play with his dog?

In his left hand, a key sits nestled in his palm. It's not too hard to assume that it's his key - and the red motorcycle a few yards down the street is probably his. There's nothing else around. He pockets the key so he won't lose it.

_What the hell is going on??_

Increasingly more nervous and frustrated with each second, Jason remembers the pictures in his other hand. Going through them, a numbing ache spreads through his bones and it's almost funny how even more utterly fucking confused he is. Leave it to himself to leave unclear instructions. Stupid.

The first note on top is clearly the most recent. There's smudges of red marker on the tips of his fingers - the same color as the address written onto the memo. He must have just jotted this down before he had his daily dose of forgetfulness. Damn.

Jason tilts his head to get a better angle of the house number, just above the large mansion's doorway. Yeah, 1007 are the numbers. Same as what he just wrote on the memo: 1007 Mountain Dr. **B.W**. He has no idea why this place is important, but it must be if he's come all this way to scope it out. For good measure he takes out a highlighter from his pocket (apparently he keeps an arts and crafts store on him at all times) and aggressively highlights the address a few times. He's not quite sure what the B.W thing is about.

Something nags at him and for a second he gets a splitting headache. This place could be the key to everything. Jason doesn't know how he knows it but...something about this manor seems eerily familiar.

He decides to sit down in the garden after that, next to the small pond and think about what to do. Is this his house? Probably not. Why would he write down the address to his own house?

Grunting angrily, he slips off the strange helmet on his head and glares down at his reflection in the water. "Why can't you just remember?" He hisses, though he knows it won't do any good.

After a few moments of self-deprecating thoughts, he pulls his knees under him and decides to study the photographs again. Perhaps after closer inspection, they can help him figure something - _anything_ \- out.

The first photograph, the after the memo, is a picture of the house right in front of him. Labeled again with red marker: WAYNE MANOR. It looks identical to how the mansion looks now which shouldn't be unusual for a house.

The second  photograph he hadn't initially paid much mind too even though it was also near the top of the stack. Now, as Jason stares at it, something weird pops out at him. It's a picture of him, smiling and showing off his middle finger but that's not the strange part. He's wearing the same outfit and...Jason looks back at himself in the water, trying not to freak out at the notion. This picture looks like it could have been taken _today_.

It's likely he wears the same clothing everyday - it's not like he would really remember - but something about the expression on his own face in that photograph...it seems recent.

A flash of something up on top of the roof catches his attention.

It's...a person. Standing on top of the house. Not very tall, but not short. No indication as to where they came from.

Jason blinks, and thinks he should be weirded out. The sight is strangely calming though and he can't help but feel captivated at the sight of the newcomer, sitting down on the edge of the roof with their legs swinging out from underneath them. They're wearing some sort of red-black costume and mask, but even that doesn't really phase the young man. He has a mask of his own, sort of. At that reminder, he slides it back on. If he's got a helmet, that must mean he doesn't want people knowing his identity. Right?

He's not sure what compels him to ascend the side of the manor himself. Answers? Maybe, looking at this person up close will tell him why he's here. He's definitely not going to go up to this stranger and ask: "Hey, do you know why I'm stalking your house?"

It's better just to observe and maybe something this person does will give him a clue.

It takes him awhile to clamber up, mostly because his ribs are screaming at him. (They must be bruised, he concludes. And no, he doesn't recall why.) He is also doing his best to be as quiet as possible. No use in giving away his position - that's probably rule number one of spying on someone.

Unfortunately, his stealth skills must be lacking. Jason doesn't know if that's something he's good at, but he's dressed in mostly combat type clothing (except maybe his leather jacket) so if it's not for stealth missions then it must be for outright attacks.

The moment he pulls himself onto the roof, thinking he'll hide behind the wide chimney, the person sitting speaks. "I'm really not in the mood right now. Tell B that I need to go solo tonight. It'll help me clear up my thoughts and...well it's probably best that we stay away from each other for awhile."

Jason doesn't really know what to say to that. Clearly, this costumed stranger thinks he's talking to someone else. He decides not to answer and weighs his options of fleeing now and sticking around to try and figure out what's going on. His cover is already blown...maybe he should cut his losses.

Too late, he realizes he should have left the moment the stranger started talking. This new adversary turns their head, and for a moment they don't say anything. Their eyes, covered by white filter lenses, just scan Jason and the expression on their face remains eerily neutral.

Then, the audible sound of knife unsheathing reaches Jason's ears and before he can react, the leather costumed weirdo is sprinting at him, a battle cry of sorts ripping from his lungs.

"Uh," Jason stammers out intelligently, before remembering to dodge as the knife slices past his cheek. It misses, but just barely. 

"Who are you?" The figure demands - up close and as moonlight begins to flicker down Jason can tell this person is a teenage boy. He has dark black hair, just like the little boy who went into the house earlier. But it's not the same person. His night is seriously getting odder by the second.

His attacker attempts to jab him in the stomach but something in Jason takes over, it's like autopilot, and he blocks the strike easily. However, he wasn't prepared for the feint and there's a moment of shock when he realizes the knife has sliced right through his jacket and along his left arm.

He doesn't yell, or even react, but his pause emphasizes his astonishment.

The boy seems a little surprised too, but they don't falter. Instead, the brutal assault continues and Jason half realizes he's carrying at least two guns on him - he can feel their weight - but can't concentrate on that on account of the searing agony racing through his arm.

"Who are you?" The boy repeats, this time with more vigor than before.

"Your mom," Jason quips back then takes the opening of hesitation to get in a a _hard_ punch, right into his opponents chest, which sends the other sprawling backwards. It's so forceful that his head actually connects with the chimney with a loud crack and Jason actually winces in sympathy at the sound.

Fortunately, this reprieve from fighting gives him some time to ponder his life choices.

As Leather Asshole regains his bearings (quicker than anyone has a right to), he leaps onto of the chimney with all the grace of a feline and sheathes his blade. He quickly presses a finger to his ear and shouts a few words into the air, but Jason's so disoriented from the pain in his arm that it's a little hard to concentrate on what's happening.

At least he put his weapon away. That's relieving.

Of course, Jason spoke too soon. Leather Asshole pulls out two more objects from some handy dandy belt around his waist. One is something smaller, but much much more shiny than the knife. The second is...an expandable stick? Whatever they are, Jason decides it's time to go. He does have enough sense, however, to yank out his Smith and Wesson Magnum, which was formerly strapped to his leg, as incentive for the ninja kid to keep his distance. A shot in the general direction of the teen ought to do it.

 _This was a bad idea._  He thinks to himself bitterly, urging his aching body to move. _Stupid stealth. Stupid ribs. Stupid arm._ He barely cased the area before coming in here and he's paying the price.

He's just beginning to sprint back across the rooftop, fully intending to do an imitation of a cannonball off the top, when his grip on reality begins to fade.

"No," He panics out loud, forcing himself to keep moving. Not right now. God, not right now. He freaking just got here. He strains to keep himself focused.

But it's too not enough.

The world falls away at his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is Chapter 4. 8 more to go. Think you can guess this early on what's going to happen?
> 
> Also, I'm so sorry for the infrequent updating. This story will get done, I just have no idea when. I get so busy with school and other stories and life that it seems I either write a ton in a short amount of time or write very little. Thanks for sticking around though! <3


	5. Because The Past Is The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who can you trust, if you don't remember anything? Can you even trust yourself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos seriously motivate me :) That's why this chapter was done so quickly!

_Jason retrieves a pistol from the drawer of his bedside table and checks to ensure that it's loaded. It would be slightly embarrassing to try and shoot someone without any bullets in the barrel. He'd probably have to throw his gun at them or something._

_The doorway is heavily padded and locked with a mixture of electronic, normal keyholes and latches. A note stands out on the wall, but Jason doesn't bother reading it. Time is of the essence right now. Instead, he moves to press his eye against the peephole in the door, hoping to get a good look at whoever just knocked at the door of what's supposed to be a safe house._

_He's cautious, of course. Or at least, he thinks he must be. With all the weaponry and strange life former him led, it seems the only reason he's survived this long is by not running headfirst into trouble._

_No one is outside, which is a little irritating but at the same time, slightly relieving._

_"Who is it?" His benefactor demands, voice reverberating from the phone he left swaddled in a heap of blankets on the bed._

_Jason doesn't reply, instead doing his best to get a view of the entire hall. There - on the floor lays a ratty cardboard box. It's big enough to fit a stack of three hardcover books. There's no label, as far as he can tell. No return address nor a name for who it was intended. There is only one image on top that could give him a clue as to who sent it._

_[](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/villains/images/7/70/The_League_of_Assassins_Symbol.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20160914030021)_

* * *

He should be happy.

B.W. is dead.

Jason stares at the laceration on his right wrist with a special kind of hatred. His gut twists just looking at the marred skin and crudely carved initials. All of this, every single step he planned led up to this moment. He lets himself reread the tattoo on his left wrist, hoping perhaps that this will somehow make him feel better. B.W TRIED TO KILL YOU. GET REVENGE.

He's not quite sure what he'd been expecting, but this feeling wasn't it. Euphoric? Ethereal?

No. All he feels is numb. 

Al Ghul is watching him with the eyes of a predator, and it should be disturbing that a boy that can't be much older than ten is leering at him in such a way. But it's not really - he's come to learn that Al Ghul is ruthless and cold, despite his age. 

"You're not happy," The boy supplies without a trace of emotion to betray his own feelings. He's holding Jason's camera in his hands, as well as the photograph they took a few minutes ago. The kid is waving it back and forth, slowly, in an attempt to get it to dry quicker. Jason's pretty sure it doesn't do anything. 

When Al Ghul stops shaking it, he's able to get a better look at the image. It's of himself, from less than ten minutes ago, grinning mischievously and flipping the camera man off. That wasn't even half an hour ago and his mood has taken a considerable turn for the worse since then. It's...confusing to say the least. He was happy until the adrenaline wore off. Now, he's left with the paralyzing fear that it's over.

There's nothing left. He's tired and his ribs are pulsating with pain. This is rock bottom.

He doesn't say any of this out loud. Instead, he musters up the best fake-smile he can, though based on Al Ghul's reaction it must be pretty gruesome. "You're right I'm not happy. I'm relieved."

"Relieved," The kid repeats as if the word burns his tongue. "You've offed your most sworn enemy and all you feel is relieved?"

That's the thing, Jason reflects inwardly. It hadn't felt exactly right? Ha, ironic given the name of the man he just killed. He looks down at his hands, one is still holding his Smith and Wesson, which has blood drops spattered on it, but that's not what concerns him. His hands are the hands of a murderer...but he's trembling. Jason knows it can't be from taking another person's life - B.W deserved it. It was justified and his conscience is okay with that. So, why is he shaking? Slowly, he wipes off his gun against his thigh, resists the urge to bit his lip with worry, and sticks it back into its thigh holster.

He forces a facade of bravado, despite his misgivings.

"What? You want me to do a dance? Sing for you? Shoot a fucking firecracker off the rooftops?" Jason exaggerates the roll his eyes before he snatches the camera and freshly printed photograph from the other boy's hands. "All that matters is that it's over. I can sleep peacefully now." 

The two look at one another, an awkward silence descending over the pair. Jason doesn't know why he asks, but he does. "What's it like? Being normal? Having a family?"

He assumes the kid has a family, though at this point he supposes it wouldn't surprise him if he just sat up on top of rooftops all day brooding.

The boy seems taken aback a little, and that's a nice sensation. Not much throws him. "I don't know. It's...warm. It can often times be infuriating but I've grown accustomed to the dynamics of a family."

"That's a weird way to put it," Jason points out, but is satisfied with the answer anyway.

"Do you..." A pause, full of hesitation and doubt. "Do you want to see a picture of them?"

"You got a photo of your family on you?"

"Only because Grayson was fiddling with an old camera." Al Ghul pulls a photograph from his own pocket, cheeks flushed like he's embarrassed that he carries something of his family around with him. "I took this photo after leaping out from behind a stairwell," He chuckles softly to himself. The picture holds three people, all standing in defensive, startled positions. The boy on the far right of the image is a teenager who appears smart, his eyes give and his black hair is tousled. The guy one in the middle is taller, and obviously older, than Einstein and also has blue eyes, though a different shade. The last is an older gentleman in a black suit.

"They look...nice?" Jason isn't sure what to say, looking at these unfamiliar faces. "Is the man in the suit your dad?"

That gets the kid to smile, though it's a bit creepy. "No. My father isn't in the picture. He's uh, well I guess it doesn't hurt to tell you because you won't remember...he's Bruce Wayne."

Now, _that's_ shocking. Everyone knows who Bruce Wayne is - he's basically the resident celebrity of this hellhole.

"You're Bruce Wayne's fucking son?" Jason's eyes widen and he's still not sure he heard that right. "Who names their kid _Al Ghul Wayne_? And what the hell kind of childhood are you living? You have..." He looks at Al Ghul's sword with apparent horror. "You have a weapon!"

Al Ghul just shrugs, and it's an odd gesture on a boy that's always so stiff. "It's complicated. But, I don't have a lot of time to explain. My family is expecting my presence for our nighttime activities. I am paired with someone less than agreeable so I'd like to formulate a plan before we go out. He's always doing things wrong which of course, I'll have to point out."

Jason tries not to feel upset that the boy is leaving. It's not like he can follow him and join his family. _Quit being a baby,_ he reprimands himself. 

Maybe the other boy notices Jason's lingering gaze on the picture. The way Jason is trying to cover his sadness by scratching behind lightly behind his ear.

"You should have this," The boy finally says, a mournful look crossing his face like a shadow before it vanishes as quickly as it came. "I want you to take it. In a way...they could be your family too." There's something he's definitely not saying, but Jason doesn't point it out. He takes the picture, not sure exactly why having it brings him the comfort it does.

"Uh, thanks." What else is there to say? He just took a photograph of strangers from a ten year old.

"Oh, and since your memories of killing B.W are bound to fade soon, if I were you, I'd make a note real quick to yourself that you got your revenge." Al Ghul turns away from Jason and begins walking to his sleek black motorbike which had been hidden behind the dumpster. "I suppose this is the last I'll see of you for awhile. I need to figure a few things out, including having an uncomfortable conversation, but I assure you I will be in contact. It will take a few days but it would be pleasing if you stayed close to the safe house in order to answer my calls with promptness. Agreed, Todd?"

Jason nods, mouth feeling dry. "See you around."

The boy mounts his bike with practiced ease while Jason grabs the red marker from his pocket as well as a slip of paper. Thank God he had one last blank paper left. His brow creases as he ponders what to inscribe.

_"You won? You got your revenge and everything you wanted?"_

He scowls down at the paper before shoving the blank note, the marker, and the new photographs into his back pocket to join the rest. The camera is returned to it's normal place on the inside of his jacket pocket.

It's not fair.

Al Ghul has his memories, a loving family and apparently has a billionaire as a father - he's got everything that Jason should have. What has Jason ever done to deserve this? People all around the world are able to mindlessly and carelessly think beautiful ideas and thoughts that they know they will be able to remember later. They take it for granted.

Jason, without his memories, has nothing left to cling to. His journey has come to an end.

No.

If he has no one to hunt, his purpose is over. 

 _Just find someone else to hunt._ His mind suggests darkly. It's not a bad idea... When he forgets, _and he will_ , he'll be none the wiser.

Al Ghul has just finished donning his helmet and putting away his weapons. He revs his engine, gives Jason a little nod and pulls away to begin his trip back toward the city.

Jason watches him go, eyes narrowing.

Then, mind made up he quickly races to his own motorcycle propped against a different dumpster and rustles the key from his jacket pocket. His red helmet is hanging from the handlebars, so he slides it on and takes off in pursuit.

 _It's not wrong,_  Jason tells himself, though the aching sensation spreading throughout his body disagrees. _I need this._

He maintains a safe distance, a four or so car perimeter from the boy so that he'll be unaware of anyone following him. He'd thought it would be harder to follow the kid, as his skills of perception should be fine tuned, which was demonstrated by his impeccable fighting skills not an hour ago.

Jason tries not to look a gift horse in the mouth - it could be that the boy is tired after such a long day. Whatever the case, he remains undetected.

Al Ghul soon exits the city once more, and begins to head out into more lavish estates, separated by acres and acres of land. Jason had always wondered where the kid got all his money from. It fit that he would be a rich snob's son.

They turn onto a street called Mountain Drive after awhile, but Al Ghul doesn't slow down. Quite a bit of distance is covered, especially without a trace of any other vehicles, so Jason is forced pull back until he can barely see his target anymore. It wouldn't do any good to get caught.

Unaware of his stalker, the dark haired kid stops in front of an enormous mansion with a beautiful garden. The sign, arched over the driveway reads: WAYNE MANOR. He's in the right place then. Jason climbs off his own motorcycle a little farther down the road and parks it on the side of the street but close to a cluster of trees. Hopefully the branches and trunks will provide a little coverage while he get's what he needs.

Keeping his head down, he crawls over to the garden, which also gives him camouflage, and snaps a photograph of the place. Immediately after he puts the camera back and grabs the blank note from his back pocket. With the red pen, he scribbles down the address of the manor.

1007 Mountain Dr.

For good measure, he adds "B.W" at the end. 

Funny. Bruce Wayne's initials are B.W. He'd probably be doing the world a favor, offing the billionaire. If he's anything like Jason remembers from his childhood, he's ignorant, scandalous and self-absorbed. This half assed plan is already working itself out, almost like the universe wants him to do this. Or at least, that's what he tells himself.

Before he has the chance to forget, he pulls out the photo Al Ghul gave him. He won't remember why he has it in a short time... it needs a caption. But what to put? THESE THREE LIVE AT WAYNE MANOR. As an after thought he adds, TO GET B.W, DISTRACT THEM. 

However, he has to assess his morals once again when an enormous dog bursts from the built in pet door and runs to meet Al Ghul. The boy scratches him between the ears, a genuine grin crossing his features as he comments on the dogs behavior.

 _Am I doing the right thing?_  

"No, you're sure as hell not doing the right thing," Jason mutters to himself, shame beginning to plant itself firmly into his thoughts. Maybe...maybe he should change his mind. Just because his life was unfair didn't mean this was fair. Justice was one thing - to those who had actually wronged him.

 _God..._ he- he just doesn't want to be alone anymore.

Just as he's about to scribble out the address and write to himself that it's over, the only thing that ever feels familiar anymore begins to take over.

Shit.

Jason scrabbles at the note in his hands, and nearly drops it in his attempt to maintain his grip on reality.

Not now.  _You can't have me. I won't go._

Too damn late. Of course.

He's gone before he can even uncap the marker again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said earlier, I live for comments and feedback. It really does mean a lot and gives me incentive to write when I know I've got an audience.
> 
> Have you figured out what's going on yet? Whooo (spoopy noises).


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